Article after article I talk about sex and all the nasty things associated with it.

From piledriving hoochies, to pedigreeing project chicks, to skull fucking cumdumpsters. And don’t get me wrong, life doesn’t get much better than that. Sex is the greatest thing in the world. Nothing really compares to having some girl spread her legs and you getting your dick wet.

However, it’s only fun and games until someone gets cheesedick.

Yes, for every girl you plow, you increase your risk of getting some nasty ass STD. Your balls can hurt, it can feel like you’re pissing razorblades, gooey shit can ooze out your dick, lumps and sores can form around your manhood, and you can even die. Yes, you can actually die from fucking. What kind of backwards world is this?

Being that so many horrendous diseases can really rip you up, one thing that must be done every so often is a checkup. But not just any checkup, an STD checkup. Getting one of these is of the utmost significance. For one, it gives you a clear slate. You can find out you’re clean, and can thus go a pussy rampage without holding anything back, and not having to worry about passing anything on. Also, even if you do happen to have something, granted this isn’t your top choice of test results, you get the chance to get some meds that make everything go away before shit gets too serious. And if you do get some life threatening disease, you get plenty of notice so you can spend the rest of your days to the fullest, which includes sleeping around and taking every last leg-spreading hoochie down with you. So basically, STD tests sound like a fabulous and beneficial win-win situation.

But this test isn’t what its all cracked up to be. Truth be known, it is one of the worst experiences of a man’s life. I hope every man, as bad as it is, can relate to this. If not, you are a nasty bastard and you deserve these diseases for being so careless.

But before I get into the horrific process of the STD checkup, lets back up a little here and talk about guys who go get check ups. Basically there are five different types of guys who go get tested, and here they are in order of how scared they are during the test.

1) The guys just going for a checkup, has nothing to worry about, he just wants a clean slate 2) The guy who’s girlfriend wants him to go before they have sex 3) The guy who’s condom broke on a one night stand 4) The guy who hasn’t used a condom since he was taught how to use one in health class 5) The guy who starts to notice some crusty business terrorizing his twig and berries

For one of these five reasons, a guy decides, or maybe his girl decides for him, that it’s time to go get checked out. Depending on the situation, the guy may be very worried, or he may be barely worried at all. But one thing is for sure, it doesn’t matter what the odds are of the guy having an STD, during the examination the guy is at least somewhat worried, and the guy is in for a horrible experience. But all he can do is take a deep breath, say a little prayer to himself, and hope for the best.

The whole process starts when the guy walks into the STD clinic. Here you’re nervous level is at 1 on a scale of 1-10. First, the person at the front desk asks you what you’re here for like they don’t already know, and they just want to embarrass your ass and make you say it aloud. Dick. The person then tells you to take a seat with all the other contaminated, worried sinners and wait to be called, which will inevitably be at least 30 minutes.

At this point you start to get a little more nervous, and you’re nervous level has now been upgraded to 2. Stats say one in five people have an STD, so you try to pass the time and nervousness by using this ratio to figure out who the skuzzy bastards are in the room that have the STD’s, not including yourself of course. You also know that one in seven people die from AIDS, so you then start picking out which bastards are on death row. Then the one hot girl that is there for a checkup catches your eye. You can’t help but wonder if she has an STD, and you also can’t help but tell yourself that you wouldn’t mind catching an STD from her because after all, that’s pretty kinky, and who doesn’t like a little extra kink? She then catches you staring at her while you are grabbing your crotch and licking your lips. You quickly look away hoping she didn’t see you groping yourself, even though deep down you know she did. Your nervous level is now 2.5.

Next comes Mr. STD himself, some schmuck whose job it is to come and lecture the whole room about STD’s. But all us guys hear is blah, blah, blah because all you can do is think about how you might have an STD and how your dick may be smoking soon. You begin to think, “what if I have an STD?,” “what will I do if I have an STD?,” and “What will I tell my parents?” But you immediately start to tell yourself that there is no way you have an STD because after all, that girl you nailed looked clean, and honestly, how can someone that treated your package so well cause such negative long term consequences? Your dick should get a blue ribbon for such an adventure, not some burning sensation. And of course, none of the girls you have nailed were that dirty…you think. Either way, your nervous level moves up to 3.

Finally, you hear your name. You have been chosen by the STD Gods, and everyone looks at you. You instantly break out into a nasty sweat and your heart starts pounding like it’s trying to jump out of your chest. Your whole life of sexual misconducts flash before your eyes. That girl you nailed last year with no condom, that slut who blew you during that frat party, even nonsense shit like the time you had to use someone else’s bar of soap. You start to question your cleanliness. You even convince yourself that you have an STD. No doubt about it, you’re dead where you stand. You give yourself your last rights and start to walk down the long hallway towards the room that may turn your life upside down. Your nervous level jumps to 5.

You get to the room and the doctor tells you to sit down, all the while giving you some dirty look like they know you’re a dirty bastard. Then come the questions. They start out easy: Name, Sexual Orientation, Number of Sexual Partners. Then comes the tricky ones that you are ashamed to admit. Have you eve had sex without a condom? Have you ever had anal sex? Have you ever received oral sex? And then comes the retarded questions. Have you ever performed oral sex on another man? Have you ever received anal sex? I know they are standard, but come on doc, don’t you have any gaydar that helps you tell if a guy is gay? Stupid dick. Anyways, saying no to these answers make you feel a little better. Your nervous level drops to 4.5.

But then the doctor tells you to drop your pants. Your nervous level instantly shoots up to 6. I usually try to make the scene a little less nervous by cracking a small joke like, “but we just met,” or “I hardly know you.” However, they don’t think it’s funny, they give you a ‘shut the fuck up and pull your pants down you infested bastard’ look, and they put their gloves on.

They begin by feeling your nuts, your dick, and all the areas in a 6-inch radius, all the while critiquing for possible STD symptoms. This is as comfortable as a hernia, and is typically made worse if you get stuck with a guy doctor because having your dick in a guy’s hand is almost as uncomfortably bad as a girl trying to finger your asshole while she goes down on you. What makes it even worse is that you hope to God it doesn’t feel good for some reason, because if it does even in the slightest, it’s going to send you for a mindfuck of epic proportions questioning your manhood. Anyways, you watch while they check you, and you analyze their behavior and facial expressions trying to read their mind, hoping they aren’t thinking that you have symptoms for any STD’s. At this point you all of a sudden remember another sexual escapade that again makes you think you might have some sort of STD. The STD Gods are not on your side today, my friend.

Next comes one of the worst things in the world. Out comes the Q-tip of doom. Just seeing it shoots your nervous level to 8. You see it and wonder, ‘they aren’t going to do what I think they are going to do…are they?’ Painfully and tragically enough, the answer is yes, the doctor is going to shove a metal Q-tip inside the end of your dick, and scrape off a layer of skin from inside of it. However, they shove it so deep it feels like they are scraping excess cum off your balls, not the inside of your dick. Man, I don’t even think Jeffrey Dahmer would do shit this sick. Think about it, guys get livid when girls put teeth on their dick, now we are supposed to be OK with shoving a piece of metal in our fucking urethra? Shit man, having a girl tooth my dick is a field day compared to this penile massacre. This process almost makes you wish you stayed a virgin, as jerking off for the rest of your life may be more pleasant than this.

This excruciatingly painful experience takes what practically feels like three days. But it’s all over once the doc rips it out of your dick like it’s no big deal. And even though you feel like your soul was just extracted through your dick, the hardest part is now out of the way. Your nervous level is down to 7.

But you are far from done. Next comes the piss test. They hand you this little cup, and they tell you to fill it half way. Seems simple right? Hell no, not after your dick was just tortured. You try to piss, and you feel like you’re pissing acid. You think ‘what the fuck did this doctor do to my dick,’ and again you wish you remained a virgin. But even though you should attribute this burning to just having your dick mutilated, you can’t help but think that maybe it’s STD symptoms that are making it burn. Then once you’re done you go through the awkward action of handing the doctor a bottle of your own piss. But honestly, that’s a piece of cake considering what the doctor has had in his or her hands so far. Your nervous level is down to 6.

Up next comes the life-altering part of the checkup: the HIV test. Just those three letters send chills down a man’s spine as the results of this test literally have your life in the balance. This test sucks if you hate needles since it involves being stabbed with needles that have test tubes attached to them that fill up with your potentially contaminated blood. Thankfully though, this is done in a matter of seconds, and after which they give you a band-aid like you’re a four-year-old with a boo boo.

And that’s it for the testing. No more Q-tips, no more pissing, and no more needles. However, now comes the longest 30 minutes of your life. For the next 30 minutes, you have to sit in the waiting room while the doctors find out your preliminary results. This is where your nervous level skyrockets to 10.

Your whole life starts to flash before your eyes. You think about all the good times you’ve had, and then think how you might not have anymore. Then you start to think about all the girls you have had sex with and you start to regret every single one. Then you start to think about everyone they have had sex with, which you realize exponentially raises your chances of catching some crusty disease. You then think about the past few weeks and analyze how some behavioral characteristics of your body might have been STD symptoms. You are officially 100 percent convinced that you have an STD, and your days as a piledriving, ovary massacring, gonad grease-spreading stud are coming to an end.

Next, you try to make a deal with God. Even if you don’t believe in him, he’s all of a sudden your best friend. You promise that you will be a better person, and won’t have sex for a long time in exchange for good results. You even promise yourself that you will do this.

And then they call your name, and call you into the office. If it’s possible, your nervous level goes up to 11. Your heart almost stops. You get up and take the longest walk of your life down what seems to be the longest hallway in the world. You go in the room and sit down. The doctor looks at you with a stone cold face, which totally freaks you out. You can’t help but think a person with that face must have bad news. You sit there thinking in your head, ‘please don’t let me have anything, please don’t let me have anything, please don’t let me have anything.’ The doctor begins to tell you the results, seemingly in slow motion.

First comes the curable stuff. You know, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis etc. But just because they are curable doesn’t make the situation any easier. Obviously the results can be good or bad. If the doctor says you are clean, then boo bam, you’re in the free and have nothing to worry about. If you’re dirty, well I’m not quite sure what happens, but I imagine it’s something like going through shock first, then accusing the doctor of fucking with you, then wanting to kick the shit out of him, then crying as the doctor tells you it’s curable, which somewhat calms you down, but not totally because you know you still have rotten baby batter. Then of course comes the feeling of wanting to choke the bitch that contaminated your spunk. Either way your nervous level drops down to 2.

But then comes the hardest part, the results of the HIV test. When you remember these results are still coming, your nervous level instantly shoots back up to 10. And these results are tricky. You have to remember that negative is actually good, and positive is bad. So it’s like a mini homework assignment getting your test results. Just one more thing to fuck with your mind. And the results are read in the most stoic, slow motion way ever, giving you enough time to have a flashback in your mind of every girl you have ever plowed before you, and the girl who you think would be the one that contaminated you sits right in front of your eyes as you hear the results.

Similar to finding out the results that you are clean of the other curable diseases, getting the negative result for HIV puts you in an ecstatic state of euphoria. Now, knowing that you are totally clean means you have a blank slate, and can go on a pussy reign of terror. You’re clean, you’re excited, and no pussy is free from being devastated and defiled by your squeaky-clean flesh rocket, willing or not. Not even the girl who you thought would have been the one to give you the dirty stuff is even safe. In fact, she’s got the one cervix you want to decimate the most for making you worry.

But then again, there might be the bad news that the results tested “positive” meaning you are about to die a slow and pussy free death, because after all, no girl is ever going to hook up with you again. It’s a masturbation way of life for you until your dirty ass rots in Hell. And similar again to finding out you have a curable disease, I imagine you first react with shock, then you question the doctor, then anger, then accepting it and wanting to kick the shit out of anyone who looks at you wrong. And then you think, who could have done this to my man meat? But then you narrow it down to one slutbag, and try to figure out what way you are going to murder her. Quick and painless, or slow torture? Actually, you kind of hope she doesn’t know she has HIV, so you get the pleasure of telling her she has it before you kill her. That bitch is dead and she won’t even get to enjoy her last few years. But then you have to tell all the other girls you may have pedigreed or hooked up with recently that your cum is dirty. Yeah, good luck with that.

Then comes the process of leaving the doctors office. If you’re dirty, it’s the ultimate walk of shame, especially considering you have to walk past all of the other people waiting who are all trying to analyze your face to try and see if you got bad news from the doctor. And of course they can, and everyone in that room knows you’re dirty, and your days are numbered. It’s the beginning of the end of your life, and they all have a front row seat.

But if you’re clean, you hug the doctor and walk out of the office with your head high, a smile on your face, and a boner in your pants. You’re a new man, well at least until you go piledrive a few more questionable people and find your ass back at the STD clinic a few months or years from now going through the same exact thing.

And that brings me to the conclusion of the horrific STD clinic experience. As you can tell, this long and painful process is a son of a bitch. Actually, I hope you know that on your own accord and could relate to this. However, if you aren’t a virgin and you have slept with some questionable people, or had sex without a condom and never gotten tested, you are a nasty bastard and need to get tested before you fuck your life up and maybe someone else’s. But maybe you’d be better not knowing? Eh, that’s your call. And for all of you virgins…yeah this process sucks, but not as much as not getting any pussy…losers.

Questions? Comments? Want some of my squeaky-clean flesh rocket? If so, e-mail me at Ikartz11@yahoo.com

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